fireplace, indulging in a pot of fresh coffee. Haines was a small,
sandy-complexioned man, with a straggling beard and light blue eyes.
He appeared competent enough, a bundle of nervous energy, and yet there
was something about the fellow which instantly impressed me
unfavorably--probably his short, jerky manner of speech, and his
inability to look straight at you.

"Pete has been telling me who you are, Lieutenant," he said, as we
shook hands, "and putting some other things together I can guess the
rest. You came south on the _Warrior_."

"From Fort Armstrong--yes; who told you this?"

"Captain Thockmorton. I saw him in St. Louis, and he seemed deeply
grieved by your sudden disappearance. No one on board was able to
explain what had occurred."

"Yet there were two men on the boat who could have explained, if they
had cared to do so," I answered drily. "I mean Kirby and Carver; they
were the ones who threw me overboard."

He dropped into a chair, his keen, ferret eyes on my face.

"Kirby and Carver? They went ashore with the Judge's body at the
Landing. So there is a story back of all this," he exclaimed jerkily.
"Damn it, I thought as much. Was Beaucaire killed?"

"No--not at least by any violence. No doubt the shock of his loss
hastened his death. Surely you must know that he risked all he
possessed on a game of cards and lost?"